The Third Path
by Amatara
Summary: There is always a third path between black and white, or between Vulcan and human. In the light of past events, Spock reconsiders his choices.


Disclaimer: Property of Paramount

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**The third path**

To second-guess fate was illogical. That was his father's voice speaking – and his own. His father would have added that the notion of fate in itself was redundant, that there was no such thing as fate; only choice. Even events that at first glance appeared random, in truth, flowed forth from a tapestry of choices. Fate was merely a concept, employed by weaker minds, to justify a path one regretted having taken.

His mother did not speak of weaker minds. She would simply say it was no use torturing oneself over past events; that he should treasure his mistakes as a part of him, as they would forge him into a wiser person. He would have answered her, coolly, that Vulcans did not indulge in self-mutilation; at which she would have smiled in that mild, translucent way of hers, the one that meant she saw right through him but pretended not to, for his sake. He recalled how she had done just that, the day he had returned from class as a child, bearing a split lip and a silent mantle of shame. His mother believed in the value of choice, even if it was the wrong one.

Yet whichever the way – Vulcan or human – and whomever the voice belonged to – Sarek or Amanda – eventually, it all meant the same thing. Fate was an illusion. There were only choices, and the realities born from them.

So had he, then, chosen for his mother to die?

Part of him longed to say that he had; that, had he only _wanted_ it enough, he could have saved her. The act of not acting was a choice as well, wasn't it? And while such thoughts did, in fact, fit the description of 'torturing oneself', they would at least give him someone to lash out to, someone other than his father, or – his lover. His thoughts turned to Nyota, how he had all but sent her away for daring to ask what he needed. He closed his eyes, recalling the reply he had given her, which was so near and yet so very far from the truth. That he'd known she would accept it without question only made him hate himself more. Hate was illogical, too, but he welcomed it nonetheless; the anger brought a clarity of mind he badly craved right now.

What he truly wished was to _have _been given a choice. If only one of his parents could be saved, surely there was no justice in it _not _being Amanda? To Vulcan norms she was yet so young, while Sarek had led a long and fruitful life. Besides, Sarek had his _katra_, so part of him would live on, even if he should, in the end, have failed to transfer it to another. But humans did not possess a _katra_, not in the literal sense that Vulcans did, and the notion of a human soul was murky to say the least.

He realized he had never asked his mother if she believed in heaven.

To choose between one's parents. If someone had posed him that question mere hours ago, he would have been shocked to think he was capable of such judgment. In his own way, he had cared for Sarek just as much as for his mother. It was only now he had lost her, that the choice seemed crystal clear.

No. That was a lie. In truth, it would always have been her he saved. He would have gone in her place, if that's what it took; he would have gone in both their places. But in the end that path too, had been closed to him.

Yet there was one more choice remaining; one more path left to walk. His error had been that he'd wanted all of it: the Vulcan way and the human; rationality and feeling; his father and his mother, both well, both alive. It seemed he couldn't have it both ways; couldn't, as Amanda used to say, 'have his pie and eat it, too'. He would have to choose, or risk losing everything.

He knew it was inevitable; he sensed it in Nyota, in those stolen moments when they were alone and he would shed his mask of aloofness, but hardly ever that of logic. While she struggled to accept and even match him in this, it was not the life she wanted for them. To love was to risk, and he was playing it too safe.

He had seen it, also, in his mother's eyes, that time he asked her about Kolinahr, whether she felt he was passing judgment upon her by considering it. She had said she would remain a proud mother, and meant it, but in fact she had never answered his question. He had loved her for that, loved her precisely _because_ she was human, because of that well of emotion she had carried inside her; never truly tangible, always bubbling just below the surface. He had loved how she was kind but not sentimental, rational without being cool. She was a woman of deep feeling, but, like a master of the sword, she wielded it only when it truly mattered. That way was neither human nor Vulcan; it was Amanda's, and unique.

He had thought his mother was lost to him for good, but perhaps that wasn't true. There was still a part of her remaining: the part that was her goodness and her wisdom, her bearing and her strength. _This _choice he still had, to save that part in the only way left to him. By carrying her spirit, in thought if not in fact.

So. This was how it would be, then.

If humanity was his inheritance, let him not squander it.

To love was to live dangerously. It was time he started doing so.


End file.
